


Forty Eight

by Nonnie_mouse



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-23
Updated: 2014-01-23
Packaged: 2018-01-09 17:59:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1149092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nonnie_mouse/pseuds/Nonnie_mouse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Forty eight tributes. Forty six lambs to the slaughter. Two " victors". A look into how it could have been for Haymitch as a mentor for the 25 years before the rebellion. Post Mockingjay, pre Epilogue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Forty Eight

**Author's Note:**

> I was struck by the idea of what would it be like for Haymitch, for those 25 years before the war, having to be "responsible" for forty eight tributes, and the behest of the Capitol. This is the result. I hope you enjoy!  
> Disclaimer : the Hunger Games Trilogy and all its' characters belong to Suzanne Collins. No profit has been made other than the love of writing.

Forty eight tributes.

Forty eight lives in my hands.

Forty eight bottles of white liquor on the wall.

Forty six lambs to the slaughter. 

Forty six lives to remember, forty six names to forget. And that's only officially. I can't bring myself myself to count how much blood is really on my hands, even before I was a " victor" . That is on the Capitol's head, not mine.

I do forget their names. I can't make myself remember- the pain is too great.

Forty six smashed glasses. Countless lives ruined. For what? Pure narcissism and sadism? A society too stupid to know better?

My own family , lost. My own history, drowned in drink.

Two " victors ".

I watch them.

I don't know how they do it, sometimes. I watch them, as I chase those stupid geese around. Their lives aren't perfect; but they were never going to be. I've watched them for a while.

Every one knows how strong she is; hell, there was a rebellion based on that strength. The Mockingjay.

But , the boy? Everyone underestimated him. Even me . I knew he was better than any of us- but to go through a hijacking and come out as well as he has... She still doesn't deserve him, but she's trying. And I can't fault that. I see her when the memories assault him a fervour he doesn't deserve. It hurts her as much as it hurts him.

She thinks I don't know pain; that under the numbness that I still don't see their faces, hear their screams. 

She and I are more alike than she knows. Pawns and rebels both.

I see her coming back with spoils from her hunt from the woods. with her head down - the games and the war taking it's toll, showing in all aspects of her body. It shows in the way she walks.

It shows in her interactions with me. The mistrust in me that was my own doing, hiding district 13 from her. The betrayal she felt when Peeta was captured. The people she's lost to death and to heartbreak. Her sister ( like my brother, one of the most innocent in a sea of innocents). The Hawthorne boy. Her mother.

And yet, she functions.

He bakes; bakes and dotes on her. At least he's not waiting on her any more. Not like he was. Maybe they'll have children one day; maybe they won't . I won't be surprised if he convinces her to start a family. He with his words and his love.

No skin off of my back either way. All I know is that they have something I'll never understand- and don't dare to name.

They are so young, and so old.

Three. My mother. My girl. My brother.

My family.

Finnick and Katniss had their knots to calm them. Peeta has his baking.

All I have is my drink, and my counting.

Two.

Four.

Six.

Forty eight names.

Forty six names to forget. Two to remember. For hope.


End file.
